The Price to Pay
by rainingWolf
Summary: It was what she wanted but what she wanted and what her people wanted were two different things. Altea cried for peace. Allura would answer that call. / major character death. Shallura. You have been warned.


For VLDtropesfest: Denial

Hope you can understand how that theme plays out in this story.

 **Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Dreamworks, Netflix, the creators of Voltron, and associates. No copyright infringement intended.**

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A hand came down on hers, jolting Allura back to reality. She blinked, looked up, and saw unlike eyes looking back at her. She almost couldn't forgive those eyes for not being the familiar ones she was used to, but she knew she had to. After all, she would do anything for her people.

Even if it meant marrying for the sake of peace.

Lotor guided her towards the door; and even though the gesture was gentle and his grip was warm, Allura resented the hold he had on her as she bowed below the arches of the doorway into the garden. The sky was blue. The trees were whispering. The wind was serene. But Allura saw, heard, felt none of it. All she saw was Lotor's eyes, heard his words, and felt the heavy hand within hers. She wanted to take her hand back but thought better of it when Lotor's smile turned crooked, lopsided, at her slight pull backwards. Allura felt something ugly rise in her stomach at the sight of it and she turned away, pretending not to gaze beneath her eyelashes at the Paladins of Voltron just steps away.

They were steps away, just within shouting distance but far enough that they didn't intrude on the couple's privacy. They did not move from their positions guarding the engaged stood, patient, ever-watching as juniberry petals swirled in the distance between them, and for one brief second, Allura locked eyes with Shiro; he was wearing a flower crown, hand reaching out for hers just like when they were young and she had just given him that gift- but it couldn't be because there was no reason for him to be looking at her the way he was.

The way that should make her happy because it was what she wanted but what she wanted and what her people wanted were two different things.

Altea cried for peace.

Allura would answer that call.

Because, the great secret, the delicate dance that her father had maintained during the marriage proposal, was that Altea, after millennia of war, was in near revolt. From the lowliest dock-hand to the highest born noble, every man, woman, and child in Altea craved peace and only Allura's acceptance and the promise of a treaty between the warring planets had kept her father in power. Everything depended on this marriage.

Lotor and she walked in silence and she was glad for the moment to collect her thoughts. After all, diplomacy was a patient man's game and it was one that both heirs to their respective thrones were aware of since the day they were born into unending war. The ring on her finger shone for a second- the sun had shed light on it for the first time since Lotor had slipped it on- and it was a call back to reality. Yes, this was a game and her father had won; but she wondered what the price of victory was as Lotor kissed her hand in farewell.

That night, the mice breathed fading words to her in her sleep, and she awoke to the sight of flower crowns pinned on the walls across the room, with the feeling that she'd lost something. The flower crowns were dry, fragile, and Allura wondered if she could be one of those decaying petals as she brushed them away from her vanity. She blinked at her reflection and stretched the corner of her lips with her fingers. A smile was hard to come by; the Galra Empire's ships lingered just beyond reach. They were here to celebrate their wayward heir's upcoming marriage and it was a joyous event. However, the streets were full of static tension, the high court even more so as Lotor and his entourage walked around under the Paladins' careful guard.

The Paladins of Voltron were always watching, impassive, their faces identical to the marble that adorned the Castle and Allura wondered if like marble, the Paladins were also as fragile.

She wondered if she was the same if she could feel her heart breaking with every step she made towards another dawn. Outside, the sun had not lit the sky yet and the dew-eyed moon was still aglow but it had started to fade away. But the moonlight hadn't dimmed so far that she couldn't make out the shadow beyond her door.

The shadow had been there before but not since the day blood was shed within the Castle walls. Allura's breath pooled out in a mist and it was as if she was waiting for this moment her entire life.

There was a beat, two, where the moon seemed to sigh. Then came a knock. It was soft, barely noticeable, but in her chamber's silence, it was echoing, deafening, a blow to her heart. She waited then she stood, blanket coming undone onto the floor, forgotten. Every step she took was indeed another step towards dawn but it was like it didn't matter because she knew the person beyond the door as surely as she knew herself.

She paused at the door.

The shadow never wavered.

She opened the door.

Shiro looked back and his face was never this naked before, never this vulnerable beyond that moment he came back with an arm that wasn't his to have. It was that arm, that hand, that now came up in question.

It was her choice. It was always her choice and Allura never felt this much weight on her shoulders before. They ached as she looked at the man before her who bowed, head exposed for a beheading.

She took his hand.

The door closed behind them.

The moon slipped into dawn and every breath Allura took was a gulp of much needed air as she surfaced from the depths of the waters; she wasn't sure how time passed but when she awoke anew, it was to a dizzying array of flower petals. The wind had blown through the window cracks and made the flower petals flutter helplessly, beautifully, onto the floor. She dutifully lined them up once again, gently laying them in their position as sunlight lit her up, and for the first time since the Galra Empire had landed too close to home, she felt warm, warmer than last night, warmer than all the other nights when only the moon was her friend.

Because even sometimes, the moon went away too.

She didn't look back at the empty bed as she walked out.

The morning went by in a haze; it was like walking in a dream and slowly becoming aware of reality as the whispers set in and Allura heard it one by one. She ignored the first one. Mimed innocence on the second. Arched an eyebrow at the third. But when the fourth, the fifth, and sixth whisper needled into her ears, she knew she could no longer ignore the Black Paladin's absence.

At the dining room, she didn't move as Lotor gripped her hand loosely and Zarkon entered the room, shoulders like the mountains, his hand coming down like a meteor onto the table with enough force to make the surface crack.

What the Emperor held was an arm, a hand that Allura was familiar with, something that had caressed her not too long ago…

She looked up, saw maddening eyes, felt Lotor's hold strangle hers, and excused herself.

The other Paladins never looked her in the eyes.

Alone in her chambers, Allura tossed and turned. She crawled out of bed just in time to see a single petal fall from one of the crowns and wondered if it was a sign of something to come. Allura dressed carefully, thoughtfully, as befitted Altean royalty: blue on her eyes, pink on her lips, and purple on her ears. For her dress, she chose a simple one that proclaimed her as royal born but also as a gesture of honor. For those who have fallen. For the Black Paladin who had once been a Champion.

For Shiro and for herself.

Her father expected an explanation but nothing needed to be said as she walked out, head high, and into the throne room. She took her place beside Lotor who looked at her with something akin to sadness before it was shuttered behind his usual smile.

The Black Paladin laid before them, bound.

Allura was suffocating, was dying, was drowning in lukewarm water but she still looked down and blinked at the clear grey eyes before her. The man nodded; it was small, almost non-existent, but a nod of acceptance nonetheless. The choice before her was clear.

She was selfish once.

Never again.

Her people needed her. She looked back up, into Zarkon's eyes, and gave her consent.

The axe came down.

A lion roared in the distance.

But for Allura, she felt a small essence of life within her and couldn't help but smile. Zarkon might have won the battle. But she knew she had won the war as four days later, the start of her cycle came and went with no blood on her bed; the moon crept into the sky, a silent witness, as Allura arranged the flower crowns once more before letting them drift out the window, one petal at a time, one piece of her heart at a time.


End file.
